


My Lost Girl

by parker_holland_osterfield



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, maybe smut later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parker_holland_osterfield/pseuds/parker_holland_osterfield
Summary: When a girl washes up on Neverland, Peter Pan has no idea who she is, even though no one is allowed on or off the island without his say-so...
Relationships: Peter Pan | Malcolm/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Fate?

The roar of the storm and the creak of the  _ Jolly Roger _ ’s hull are deafening as you sink beneath the waves, thrown overboard in the turmoil. You fight to breach the surface, but the raging waters hold you down as your vision blurs and your lungs burn for the sweet taste of air. The last thing you hear is Hook faintly crying out your name as the world turns to black.

Your eyes shoot open when you suddenly feel something poking your ribs. You roll over, the seawater burning your throat as you cough it up onto the shore. When you finally catch your breath, you slowly look around to take in your surroundings.

“Um...over here.”

You scramble to your feet, startled by the sound of a voice. A boy’s voice. You take a defensive stance, ready to fight if need be.

The boy merely laughs at you. “Whoa there. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He looks harmless enough: green patchy clothes, untamed dirty blonde hair, crooked smile. But there was something in his bright green eyes that made you uneasy still.

You lick your lips, trying to find your voice. “Who...who are you? Where am I?”

He stands from where he was crouched next to you. “This is my island. It’s called Neverland.”

“N-Neverland?” Your eyes dart around in confusion. “How the hell did I get here?”

“You tell me. No one is allowed to come here without my permission and uh,” he crosses his arms and looks you up and down, “I have no idea who you are.”

You scrunch your brows together, trying to remember. “I was...I was on a ship. We were struck by a storm, a big one. It-it came out of nowhere. I must have been blown overboard and...and washed up here.”

“Interesting. You see...this island, it’s magic. The only way to reach it is through magic and even then, like I said, no one comes here unless I allow it.”

“Look, I have no intention of staying here, okay? I just need to find a way to signal my ship and then I’ll be out of your hair,” you huff.

“No, you’re not listening to me. There _is_ _no_ way for you to signal your ship. Magic brought you here, for some reason, and the only way you’ll be able to leave is with magic.”

You rake your hands through your hair, pacing in frustration. “Fine, then...what do I need to do? How do I get the magic I need to get out of here?”

He laughs again. “Oh, I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple. I didn’t summon you, so that means the  _ island itself _ brought you here. And I’m sorry, but,” he closes the distance between you until you’re looking up into his eyes, “I really want to find out why.”

“Fine.” You take a couple steps back. “But as soon as you do that, you’re helping me find a way back to my ship.”

“Deal.” He offers you his hand. “My camp isn’t far from here. You should rest, and probably eat something.”

“Heh. Thanks, but I think I can handle myself.”

He raises both hands in surrender. “Oh I don’t doubt it. You look like a girl who can easily take care of herself,” he smirks. “But this jungle is dangerous, especially when you’re alone AND unarmed.” Your hand darts to your side, only to find your sword and sheath missing, probably ripped away in the storm. He offers you his hand once more. “Please.”

You hesitate again. “You never answered my first question. Who are you?”

“Oh, did I forget to introduce myself? I’m Peter. Peter Pan. Now...shall we?”

You motion towards the jungle behind him. “Lead the way.”

As the two of you reach the treeline, Peter turns to you. “I told you my name. What’s yours?”

You take a breath before responding. “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

“Beautiful.”


	2. Sparks?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't trust Peter. At all. But there's just something about him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found a cool prompt from an account on tumblr, @givethispromptatry , and it helped me get over some writer's block (I did change up some of the wording but they said it was okay!)
> 
> "He tried to swallow his nerves as the man who had saved him leaned even further into his space. Their faces were inches apart and the distance was closing."

“Neverland runs on belief. All you have to do is believe and it comes true.” Peter explains as the two of you walk into his camp.

“So, hypothetically, I could believe there was a magical raft that could take me away from here and one would just...appear?” you inquire, only partly joking, as you take in your surroundings.

Peter lets out an exasperated sigh. “No. As I have  _ told _ you, no one comes or goes unless I  _ allow  _ it.” He steps closer to his guest. “All I would have to do is believe that your raft was merely an ordinary one, and you wouldn’t be going anywhere.” His smirk sends a shiver down your spine. So far, you don’t have any reason to  _ not _ trust him, other than a gut feeling that something is just...off.

You shake it off and wander around the campsite. “So...what now? You said we were going to figure out why I’m here, since you didn’t ‘summon’ me or whatever, so...how are we going to do that?”

Peter chuckles. “First of all, it’s late. And you’ve had a hard day, you should rest and eat something.” He waves his hand and a campfire blows up in front of you, making you jump back in both fear and awe. Peter laughs again, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.  _ Again _ .”

“You...you have magic?”

“It is just  _ not _ sinking in, is it? This entire  _ island _ is magic, lassie. I bet,” he saunters over and points his finger at your chest, “even  _ you _ could learn to wield it, given time.”

You lightly push his finger away. “I’ve never been able to use magic. I just don’t have it. And I also don’t have  _ time _ to sit around while you try to teach me because I need to get back to my ship and my crew and you already promised to help me do that.”

That smirk again. Mischievous, almost evil, and yet...magnetic. Peter steps towards you and you match his pace until your back suddenly hits a tree, forcing a gasp through your lips. You try to swallow your nerves as the boy leans even further into your space, your faces now only inches apart and the distance closing. He locks eyes with you as he whispers, “You have fire. I like fire.” His gaze keeps you locked in place as your mind races. Should you slap him? Run away? The way his lips are parted, you can feel his warm breath brush against yours-

Before you can get your thoughts straight, Peter breaks away, saying that he’s going to gather some food. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and sink down to the ground, leaning your head back against the tree and wondering what the hell you had just gotten yourself into.


	3. Bonding...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Peter have at least gotten used to being around each other. But a sudden outburst might threaten that peace...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I used a prompt from @givethispromptatry on tumblr to help with some writer's block (and again changed up some of the wording to fit the story)
> 
> "The sound of his mystery partner's violin carried through that late evening air. With a small smile, he raised his flute to his lips and counted the notes until it was his time to join in."

A few days pass and the two of you grow more and more comfortable around each other. One night, you’re lying side by side, gazing up at the stars when you start humming.

Peter tilts his head to look at you. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s...it’s nothing. Just...something that popped in my head.”

“Please.”

You feel your cheeks start to warm but you blame it on the heat from the fire. “My mother...she used to play the violin to me when I was a child. It always put me straight to sleep. She taught me how to play before she died, not long before I joined the  _ Jolly Roger _ . I don’t know...why it just came to me, I haven’t thought about her in years.”

Peter sits up quickly. “The boys who visit every night, do you know why they can never stay?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Because no matter how long they’re here, they always start to miss their parents. It’s part of the island’s magic, a way to keep anyone from staying here forever, like me. I guess it was bound to happen to you, too.” He stands up and walks into his tent.

His sudden change in attitude surprises you. But you decide it’s best to just leave him be and close your eyes, drifting off to the sound of your mother’s violin.

Peter barely makes eye contact with you the next day. The two of you simply go through the motions; chopping wood, hunting, collecting water. When the boys visit that night, Peter sulks in a corner by himself instead of dancing like he usually does. You wrack your brain, trying to think of how to cheer him up, when one of the boys breaks from the prancing masses and points to the ground next to you. “What’s that?”

You look down and see a violin. At first you’re confused but you let out a small laugh when you remember that the island is magic. You pick it up and it feels...right, exactly like the one your mother taught you to play. The boy’s face lights up as he turns to the lively group, “Hey, I think she’s gonna play for us!” They all cheer as you try to gently turn them down, but then you catch Peter’s eyes through the crowd. The chants of “play it, play it, play it” fade into the background as you study each other. Finally, you stand and start to play an upbeat, lively tune, appropriate for the night’s festivities. The boys cheer and begin jumping around the bonfire once again and you move around with them, a smile plastered on your face.

Once all the boys have returned to their homes for the night, you settle into the hammock you rigged up. You try to drift to sleep but after multiple failed attempts, you pick up your violin again. You hesitate for a moment, worried that Peter might hear you, but close your eyes as the first note of your mother’s lullaby rings out.

In his tent, Peter’s first reaction is to tell you to shut up and go to sleep. But as he listens to your music, he smiles and pokes his head out. The peaceful look on your face entrances him and he settles on the ground just outside his tent. He raises his flute to his lips and counts the beats until it was his time to join in. The sudden addition catches you off guard and you open your eyes, but your hand never falters. The two of you smile at each other and play on.

When the song finishes, Peter rises and walks back into his tent. “Wait!” He turns to see you clumsily getting out of your hammock, nearly falling. You set down your instrument and walk over, twiddling your fingers. “I don’t know...what I said or-or did to make you angry with me today but I’m-I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Y/N. It was...it was the thought of you leaving me. I know we’ve only been here together a few days, but-”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “But I thought you had to get back to your ship? After we decipher why exactly you were brought here?”

“I think I know why and...it’s for that reason that I...I can’t leave.”

“What are you talking about?”

You fully enter the tent and sit next to him. “I think...I was brought here for you. You’re all alone here except for when the boys visit each night, but...that’s not enough. It’s only been a few days, but I’ve seen a change in you, Peter, ever since I got here. I think you needed me and...I think I might have needed you, too.”

Your words hang in the air for a moment before a smile breaks onto Peter’s face, a genuine smile. He hangs his head with a laugh and you wrap him in a hug. He rests his face in your shoulder as you thread your fingers through his hair. “I’m not leaving you, Peter.”

“Good.”


End file.
